


Sonata for Two

by Songspinner



Series: DMC Gen Week [5]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Birthday, Brothers, Classical Music, DMC Gen Week, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: Young Vergil struggles to feel special on his seventh birthday, having to share it--and everything else--with Dante, and their mother tries to keep the peace.Part of DMC Gen Week on tumblrDay 6 Prompt: Birthday/MusicClassic DMC this time!





	Sonata for Two

“Hurry up, Dante.” Vergil pounded on their shared bathroom door with his small fist. Dante _always_ took too long getting ready when they had to dress up. Not that Mother had said so in so many words, but even Dante knew better than to show up to their birthday dinner in shorts and a t-shirt. “I still have to fix my hair.”

“No you don’t, it looks great!” Dante shouted from inside.

“It looks like _yours._”

“That’s what I said!”

Vergil rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Dante opened the door and spread out his arms, doing a stylish twirl. “Ta-da!” he beamed. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re making us late,” Vergil huffed, stepping into the bathroom to carefully slick his hair back in front of the mirror. Dante came in on his heels and made faces at him from behind, but Vergil ignored him. He wasn’t sure why his heart was pounding in anticipation of their seventh annual dinner celebration. He should have been excited. Gifts, fancy food, an expectation that Dante would behave himself…who could ask for more?

“Am not. You’re just jealous cuz I look better.” Dante grinned at him in challenge, but Vergil swept past him imperiously to head downstairs. “Hey, wait up!”

At the bottom of the stairs they stood together for inspection. Mother smiled and told Vergil he looked very handsome, like a perfect gentleman. He gave Dante a smug smile.

“What about me, Mother?” Dante asked eagerly.

“Oh, Dante…stand still, there we are…” She licked her thumb and used it to rub away some dirt that still smudged Dante’s face from his tree-climbing antics earlier (while Vergil had been _trying_ to read quietly but Dante wouldn’t stop shouting “VERGIL LOOK AT ME!” while he performed increasingly stupid stunts). Mother gave Dante a fond smile and cupped his cheek in her hand for a moment, then adjusted a few stray strands of his hair and stepped back. “You look wonderful, Dante. Your father would be proud.”

Vergil’s smile curdled on his face, as his gut seemed to drop out of his body with a lurch. Father would be proud of _him?_ Why, because he’d bothered to run a comb through his hair for once? He’d learned a new word from a poem the other day: “slovenly.” He resolved to use it to describe Dante at every opportunity from now on.

“All right, boys, time to go!” Mother handed them their coats—Dante’s red one had a hood attached, while Vergil had detached the hood from his blue one and replaced the plain plastic buttons with ornate gold-painted ones, but otherwise they were identical—and put on her own before ushering them outside to the car. Vergil pointedly sat in the front seat, ignoring Dante’s whines of “but you didn’t call shotgun!” and glaring out the window for the entire ride.

When they got to the old-fashioned restaurant, the owner greeted Mother warmly and led them to their usual table in the back, as tasteful candlelight flickered everywhere they looked and carved mahogany pillars reflected in the mirrored ceiling above their heads. Soft classical music played as a backdrop to the low murmur of conversation. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Dante muttered to him as they followed behind her. “It’s our birthday, bro, have a little fun!”

_Why does it always have to be OUR birthday? _Vergil thought, wondering what life would be like if he didn’t constantly have to take a back seat to Dante’s craving for attention. Would Mother fix his hair and tell him Father would be proud of him? Would he get to spend a whole afternoon in peace and quiet, and then have a conversation with Mother over dinner without getting interrupted every two minutes?

They sat down in a comfortable booth that curved around its little corner table, so the three of them could easily talk without raising their voices. Mother asked about their day and chatted about her gardening, promising they could have first pick of the flowers when they were ready to be picked. Vergil assured her he would have the _actual_ first pick, since he was older. Dante said he didn’t want Vergil’s boring blue flowers anyway. Mother gently chided them. It was all business as usual, but Vergil was sick of business as usual. He deliberately ordered something totally different from what Dante was having and refused his brother’s offer to trade a bit of his dish for a taste of it. (Even though he had to admit that what Dante was having looked delicious.)

When Mother had a cake with seven candles brought to the table and sang happy birthday to them, Vergil couldn’t help feeling only three and a half of those candles were for him. She cut Dante a generous slice from the side with the red icing roses, then cut Vergil one from the side with the icing bluebirds, and he thought, will I ever get to have a whole cake that’s just for me?

By the time the hour of gift-giving rolled around, he just wanted the whole thing to be over. He’d never felt this way about their birthday before, but after months of their second-grade teacher’s complete inability to tell them apart despite _obvious_ cues, and _two_ years of pestering Mother about when Father was coming back with no solid answer, he was starting to wish he didn’t have a twin at all.

“The first gift is for both of you,” Mother said, setting a small box down on the table between them. The little card attached to it read: _“To Dante and Vergil, my beloved sons. Never forget how much your parents love you. With all my heart, Mother.”_

To Dante _and Vergil_. Dante’s name _always_ came first. “I don’t want to share it with Dante,” he blurted out abruptly. Even as he heard himself say it he knew it sounded childish, but he didn’t care.

“What?” Dante’s eyes widened, his shoulders slumped. “Why not?”

“Because I have to share _everything_ with you!” he snapped. “It’s not fair.”

“But…we’re twins.” Like that was all the explanation Dante needed or wanted.

“I didn’t ask for a twin!” Vergil shoved Dante, as though with a simple push he could eject his brother from the restaurant. Or from his life.

“Hey!” Dante scowled and shoved him back. “Well, neither did I! Especially a mean one like you!”

“Boys!” Eva reached across the table to separate them with a firm grip. They were, if she was to be honest, already a match for her in strength; but what she lacked in half-demonic power she made up for with a stern motherly tone. “That’s enough. Vergil, apologize to your brother, that was uncalled for.”

She watched his face darken like a thunderstorm had passed over it. This kid’s stubborn pride…she knew it was going to get him in trouble someday. “But it’s true and I’m not sorry,” he insisted.

Dante looked like Vergil had punched him, hurt and confused but ready to brawl right here in this booth, other diners be damned. “I’m not sorry either!” he shouted. She resisted the urge to hide under the table, as their squabble was beginning to draw attention. “Why can’t you ever just have fun?”

Vergil opened his mouth with a look on his face that said he was about to slice Dante’s feelings to shreds. She pressed her lips together and pounded a fist once on the table, making the silverware and the boys both jump. “I said, that’s enough!” The children fell silent, having the grace to look a bit guilty but still glaring at each other over the wrapped box. She softened her tone. “Vergil, honey, I understand how you feel. But I’d like you to consider how Dante feels, too. Can you do that?”

“I don’t care how Dante feels,” he muttered, but she could tell it wasn’t true, because the guilt in his face intensified and he mumbled his words like he thought he could get away with them if she didn’t hear them properly. Dante tensed and she was pretty sure she’d have a literal fight on her hands if she didn’t nip this in the bud now.

“Yes you do,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “and Dante cares about how you feel, too. Don’t you, Dante?”

“No!...yeah, I guess.”

“That’s right. Vergil?”

The elder twin withered before her eyes, his face crumpling into a defeated sulk. She was sure this argument would continue with relish after they were out of her earshot, but maybe presents would help diffuse it. “Fine,” he said eventually. “Sorry, Dante.”

“…do you wanna open the box?” Dante offered. An olive branch if she’d ever seen one, the poor sweet kid. She wished they could get along for more than five minutes at a time. It wasn’t always Vergil’s doing, either—Dante certainly did his share of antagonizing his brother for no good reason—but Vergil was rarely the one extending his hand first afterward.

“Okay.” Vergil slid the box closer to him so he could carefully undo the ribbon and unwrap it with meticulous focus. Dante was literally bouncing in his seat with impatience, but he must not have wanted to start another argument because he didn’t complain about how long Vergil was taking. Finally, he pulled off the lid to reveal two near-identical amulets, pale red jewels the size of the twins’ fists, gleaming in the candlelight. One was set in silver, the other in brass.

Both boys were still and silent for a moment. Vergil broke it first, lifting the brass one out of the box with care. The pendant felt like more than jewelry, heavier in his hand than its physical weight alone accounted for. He was sure it would speak to him, if he had a way to listen. He looked up at Mother with a question on his face while Dante picked up the other amulet with a curious and almost reverent gaze.

“They once belonged to your father,” she said. “Take good care of them. They’re very important.”

“Why?” Vergil asked.

“You’ll understand someday.” Her smile had something faraway in it.

“…thank you, Mother,” he said solemnly.

“Yeah! Thank you!” Dante’s face lit up as he hung the amulet around his neck. It looked hilariously huge on the seven-year-old, but he’d grow into it. Vergil followed suit.

“You said that was the _first_ present, right?” Dante said brightly.

She grinned. “I did say that. But the others are waiting for you at home.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

***

Dante was predictably ecstatic about the new set of Nerf pistols and cowboy hat he received, although Vergil groaned upon seeing them, knowing countless foam projectiles lay in his immediate future. When it was his turn, he entered Mother’s warm, cozy study with his hands stuck in his pockets, remembering and hating the way his face had flushed red when he’d been forced to apologize to Dante.

She smiled at him. “I hope you’ve had a lovely birthday, Vergil.”

“I guess.” He didn’t smile back.

“I’d like to talk about what happened at dinner.” She patted the loveseat next to her. He felt his heart pounding again, but he sat down, waiting for the scolding. Instead, she ran a hand gently through his hair. “Dante’s a handful, isn’t he?”

“He’s loud and annoying. And _slovenly._”

She desperately schooled her face; he would not appreciate her laughing right now. _But oh, Vergil, that quick mind of yours, and that haughty tone! You’re so much like your father. Will you ever get to see that for yourself, I wonder?_ “Yes, he can be those things,” she agreed. “But he let you open the box, didn’t he?” He shrugged. “Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know why he does anything.”

“I think you do, and you just don’t want to admit it.” She sighed, curling into a more comfortable position on the loveseat, tucking her legs underneath her. “Vergil, your brother adores you. He interrupts your reading because he wants to spend time with you. And he likes sharing everything with you because it reminds him that you’re always there for him.” She waited a moment to see if he would have anything to say, but he steadfastly held his tongue, so she went on. “I had a talk with him, too, you know. I asked him to try to give you a little more space.”

He lifted his eyebrows at that. “You did?”

“Yes, I did.” She looked into the distance for a moment, the corners of her lips turning up in a sad smile. “When I was young, my sister and I were inseparable.” He blinked in surprise. “I doubt you’ll ever meet her. We…don’t speak anymore.” _She found out about Sparda and the whole family disowned me. It’s their loss, missing out on these two beautiful children in their lives._ “At the time, though, we were always together. And most of the time, that was perfect. But sometimes I wanted some time to myself, and she had a hard time understanding that.”

He watched her intently. “What did you do?”

She chuckled. “Nothing. What _could_ I do? She was my sister, and even when she frustrated me, it was a comfort to know I would never be alone. She was always there for me when I needed her, and I for her. Vergil…” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to need space. But it’s also okay to rely on Dante and enjoy his company. It’s a blessing to have someone who will always be with you.” _Sparda…where are you?_

Vergil frowned in concentration, thinking it through. She gave him credit for not just placating her with empty reassurances; the one thing she’d never known Vergil to be was dishonest. _Dante_ would fib at times, but he was so terrible at it she couldn’t really be upset. But what Vergil eventually said was, “Can we stop talking about Dante now?”

“Sure.” She reached behind the loveseat and pulled up an oblong box, handling it with care and laying it across her son’s lap. It was pretty heavy, he noticed, and longer than his arm. “Happy birthday, Vergil.”

He opened this box with the same exactitude as the last one, finding that inside it was a long case made of leather and wood. Could she have…? His eyes widened with anticipation as he undid its clasps and pushed open the lid to reveal—yes. He gasped softly. “Mother…”

“This was my aunt’s,” she said, “and now it’s yours. Your teacher tells me you’ve really excelled, so it seemed like the right time for you to have one of your own.” She smiled widely and handed him a thin book she’d had hidden under her shawl. “What do you think, time for a duet?”

“Can we?” _Now_ he was smiling, too, and she tried not to tear up at his unadulterated joy.

“Of course.” She stood and made her way to the piano, with her piece of choice already spread neatly across the stand. “Page 24, if you would.”

Vergil lifted the violin gingerly out of its case and stood to join her, pulling over his own stand and flipping through the book of Baroque classics until he found the page. It took longer than usual for him to get ready—rosining the bow, setting up his shoulder rest, tuning with his characteristic look of perfect concentration and insisting on doing it by ear rather than with the piano’s aid as usual. Once or twice she caught him pausing when he thought she wasn’t looking, just to admire the instrument’s lacquered amber maple and the mellow sound his gentle plucking made. Finally, he nodded his readiness to her, and her hands came down onto the keys to begin the accompaniment in a measured _moderato_.

The pensive, lyrical music filled the cozy little room, as Vergil tried hard not to make any mistakes. She’d chosen a piece of intermediate difficulty that she knew he’d played before, giving him the chance to show off while still offering a challenge he’d appreciate. Once he settled into the rhythm of it, his jaw and shoulders relaxed. The timbre of the old violin was mellifluous and rich, and she could tell how much he loved it just by watching him play. Someday, she thought, he would be a true virtuoso.

As the final notes faded away, Vergil lowered his bow with a flourish and turned toward her to bow deeply with an air of formality, so she applauded with a soft giggle at his showmanship. “That was beautiful, Vergil.”

“Thank you, Mother.” His gaze as he came up from his bow told her he was grateful for more than the praise.

“You’re very welcome.” She closed the fallboard and came over to give his forehead a kiss. “Now, it’s almost time for you and your brother to get ready for bed. If you want a hot chocolate first, you’d better put away your violin and come join us in the kitchen quick, before we drink it all.” She gave him a wink and left him standing there in his contented daze for a moment. _Your violin_, her voice repeated in his mind. Then he registered her words and hurried to put the instrument back in its case—carefully, _carefully_—and store it safely in the bedroom he shared with his twin before running downstairs to the kitchen.

Despite his delay, he still made it there before Dante did. When his brother dashed into the room like a firecracker and saw that Vergil had claimed the last of the marshmallows, his face fell into a resigned pout. Vergil looked into his cup thoughtfully. _It’s not like Dante will even want me to share my violin,_ he thought. _That’s all mine._ “Here,” he said, spooning out half the marshmallows and dropping them into his brother’s mug. “Happy birthday.”

Dante’s face lit up as he grinned. “Whoa, somebody’s in a good mood.”

“Don’t push your luck, Dante,” Vergil said. He sat back in his chair and sipped his cocoa, the melody of the duet still running through his mind. Maybe sharing a birthday with Dante wasn’t _that_ bad.


End file.
